


Ruling Ash

by keira_irl



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Slice of Life, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 08:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keira_irl/pseuds/keira_irl
Summary: Fleeing her sister, Victoria Dallon takes refuge in the city of Stafford, New Hampshire.





	Ruling Ash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frustratedFreeboota](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frustratedFreeboota/gifts).



> I lost a snip duel, and I had to pay 1,500 words in tribute. At least they gave me a ship I like :p

_How could she?_

The thoughts were racing in my head as I flew. Above me, roiling clouds poured tears in solidarity to my own, my choking gasps for breath accompanied by the deep bass rumble of thunder around me.

Amy, my own sister. My own fucking sister! I couldn’t believe it. The Slaughterhouse Nine. She wasn’t like them, she was no Bonesaw, no Jack Slash, no Mannequin…

And yet, now she was.

A crack of nearby thunder jolted me from my thoughts. How long had I been flying? Where was I? Below me, only farmland and forest. I lowered my altitude cautiously, wishing I’d had time to grab a phone, or an ID, or an anything before I’d gone. I didn’t even have my costume. A sweatshirt, skinnies, and chucks, all sopping. Fucking great.

Ahead of me, the twinkle of lights resolved through the downpour. I changed course, lowering myself until I was just over the trees, and the town got closer and closer. Amy’s last words to me echoed through my mind. Threatening to kill me, for… scorning her? For not wanting to be a part of her fucked-up little incest fantasy? It was insane, but it meant I had to lay low. By herself, Amy wouldn’t be a problem, but I wouldn’t want to attract the attention of the rest of the Nine.

Which meant even the town’s shitty two-story motel wasn’t an option, not that I could afford it without any cash on me. It’d be fine. I was Glory Girl. I’d fought an Endbringer, for fuck’s sake, sleeping rough for a couple nights would be nothing, at least until I got far enough away that I could rest easy. Portland was nice, I’d heard.

I had to circle the town twice before I saw a likely candidate. A disheveled-looking house on the outskirts, with overgrown grass and little pockmarks lining every surface I saw. It was rough, yeah, but more importantly it was dry.

I landed in the backyard hesitantly, walking over to peek in through the windows. No sign of life. I probably should’ve checked the other windows, but it was late and I was about to shiver to death, so instead I just kicked the back door in.

Inside, everything was covered in more of the circular craters, even the floor had gaps where I could see down into the basement below. Whatever. Just had to step carefully… or better yet, not step at all.

I hovered over the holes, out the kitchen and into a living room, or what was once a living room. Lots of holes here. It didn’t matter, though, there was an intact couch, that was all that mattered. I collapsed down upon it, shivering. The back cushions, I pulled atop me like two ungainly blankets.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of crying, introspection, and hypothermia, I fell asleep.

* * *

 

A crack of thunder inches away from me jolted me awake. I leapt up, couch cushions flying.

“Make one more move and I will end you, insolent worm!” a woman said. I looked over slowly. _Woman_ was too strong a word. Teenage girl fit better. She had pale, rough-looking hair, and a dark dress that looked too large for her. A finger was pointing towards me in a fashion that suggested I listen.

“Um… hi,” I said, resisting the urge to activate my aura and get the fuck away. “I’m sorry, I just needed someplace warm—”

“Quiet! You trespass in my abode, and _dare_ mock me with excuses? I am _the_ Damsel of Distress, whelp, and you will…” I tuned her out. Fucking of course. Damsel of Distress, the villain whose five minutes of fame had been all but forgotten. Now the holes in everything made more sense.

_Great job Victoria, you crashed on the couch of probably one of the few people who can yeet your shield._

“… do you have to say for yourself?” Damsel finished, glaring at me.

“Look, um, I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you somehow? Help out for a bit, and I’ll be on my merry way?” I resisted the urge to pointedly glance at her hands. You know, the terrifying hands of annihilation. “Please? It was storming outside, and… I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” _Look pathetic, maybe she’ll not murder you._

“Vic—” _Dipshit, you can’t tell her your real name._ “Victoria. Stansfield. Victoria Stansfield. That’s me.”

Damsel’s eyes narrowed. “For all I know, _they_ sent you. Like they always do. You’re a spy, Victoria.”

“They?”

“The PRT.”

“Look, I didn’t even _know_ the PRT had a presence in this shithole town. Can you, uh, stop pointing at me?”

Damsel frowned for a heartbeat, clearly thinking. “No. Move to the side.” Her finger was trembling. Hesitantly, I edged to her left, no sudden movements, my eyes going between hers and the trembling finger. There was a clap of thunder, and the wall behind the couch exploded, sending me flying past Damsel.

“Get up, servant,” she snapped, walking past me down the hallway. Damsel had already left the room by the time I got up. I could’ve made a run for it, but for some reason… I decided instead to follow her. She pushed open a door with one of her bare feet, into a bedroom filled with a lot more pockmarks. It all seemed very… Damselish, what with the black bedspread and all; even the random bits of metal on the windowsill seemed like they belonged.

Damsel nodded towards the open closet, and I glanced in. Lots of dresses, guess what color they were. “Um… nice wardrobe?” I asked, unsure.

“Pick one. I won’t have my help looking like…” she trailed off, looking pointedly at me.

_Ouch._

* * *

 

It was weird, of course, that I stayed. But something about it was relaxing. Freeing in a way, really, even if Ashley was a complete drama queen. I never told her who I really was, of course, but I didn’t even feel the need to.

The months passed, the summer heat intensifying. I helped out with what I could, things that she couldn’t. Fixing up her house, getting an electrician to fix the wiring, installing the window aircon that randomly appeared one hazy afternoon in the midst of a heat wave. The PRT really wasn’t that subtle.

Today, though, was something different.

I held the door open for Ashley, following her closely. A stereotypical 50s-style diner, complete with checkerboard tablecloths and vintage Coca-Cola ads. The woman behind the counter gave us a fearful look, which I knew Ashley _adored_ ; I gave the poor woman a gesture of reassurance as we took a seat at one of the booths.

Ashley was looking at me with a curious expression while we waited for the waitress to finish “subtly” texting one of the Protectorate capes. I smiled at her, feeling a little self-conscious still. Ashley’s style… wasn’t my own. The Victorian-style corset dress was admittedly cute on me, but the bracelets, choker, hair dye, and downright trigger-event-inducing amounts of eyeliner on the other hand… but I liked seeing her smile, so I accepted looking like a Tim Burton film.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” the waitress said when she finally came over. She hadn’t brought menus. The trepidation in her voice made Ashley’s eyes crinkle with a joy that I doubted anyone but me would’ve noticed. “How can I help you ladies?”

“What else does one do in a restaurant?” Ashley intoned all Damseley.

“Ms. Distress would like a milkshake, please,” I translated. It was easier this way.

“Oh, um, okay? Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry…?” There was a bead of sweat on the portly woman’s brow.

“I will have chocolate, and my servant shall have…” Ashley trailed off, ‘glaring’ at me.

“…Strawberry, please.” I pulled a twenty out of my purse and handed it to her. Things went a lot better when they knew we weren’t gonna blow everything up and walk out through the hole in the wall. On the off-chance of an accident, I had some business cards for the PRT office I could leave behind.

“Alright, I’ll get those for you right away,” the waitress said, risking a smile. Ashley glowered in response. We didn’t say much, we usually didn’t on these rare outings. I rested my head on one of my spikey bracelets, looking over at the TV behind the counter.

News. You wouldn’t think that the news would be something you’d miss. Ashley had a TV, of course, but it was usually on documentaries. She liked those, so much that, after the library fiasco, I’d ordered a laptop to hook up to the TV, so she could experience the wonders of random Youtube videos. But for now, I finally got to look at the news. I knew little bits and pieces, of course. Brockton Bay had been quarantined, India was basically gone thanks to a tinkertech bomb gone awry when Behemoth attacked New Delhi. The Machine Army was still Machine Armying. The usual.

The news on the TV tonight, though, made me freeze up entirely. The Slaughterhouse Nine had attacked again. Hundreds dead, at the hands of their newest recruit, Pandora. A picture popped up, clearly taken by a security camera. Amy.

“Victoria?” Ashley said, her voice urgent. “What’s this? Are you okay?”

I looked up at her. Concern filled her eyes. “N…nothing,” I said shakily, unclenching my fists.

“You’re lying.”

I sighed. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just… stuff.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

Our eyes met. _Can I?_ If she knew I was secretly Glory Girl, would she… would she still want me around? On the other hand, could I live with lying to her for much longer?

Fuck it.

“I’m…” I glanced at the waitress to make sure she wasn’t eavesdropping. “I haven’t been honest with you. My last name isn’t Stansfield. It’s Dallon. I’m Glory Girl. I’m sorry, I should’ve… told you sooner.”

Ashley raised an eyebrow, and then she started laughing. _Laughing._ “Victoria, you moron!” she smiled. “I’ve known since that first night. Do you take me for a fool?”

I felt my face turning red. “What, seriously? You knew? Why the hell didn’t you say anything!”

“I wanted to see how long I could make you squirm before you came clean,” she said smugly, a twinkle in her eyes.

“You ass!”

“But answer me this, _Glory Girl_ , why did you stay? That first night, I walked away to let you escape. You stayed.”

“I…” I didn’t know how to answer that. Thankfully, I was interrupted by the arrival of milkshakes. Delicious-looking milkshakes. The best part of the diners like these, though, wasn’t the cherry and whipped cream-topped treats in the glass mug, it was the “bonus cup”. I lived and died for the bonus cup, the whole reason we’d walked an extra mile instead of terrorizing the Dairy Queen. The modest steel cup, covered in frost, filled halfway up with the runny aftermath someone had deemed unworthy. In reality, that neglected portion was the best part.

I looked up at Ashley. She was giving me a peculiar look. “Oh!” I said, embarrassed. “Um… oh, we need to get you a straw.” I started to stand up, but Ashley kicked my shin.

“I am the Damsel of Distress, I will not lower myself to a _straw!_ ”

“What the hell is wrong with straws?”

“No straws!”

“Fine, fine,” I said, giving her a _you win_ gesture. I reached across the table to grab her spoon, and loaded up a big gob of chocolate milkshake. Then I remembered how she’d conveniently let me spend two months hiding I was a cape. “I will spoon-feed you, Damsel of Distress, but only if you say please.”

Ashley’s glare intensified tenfold. “I will destroy everything that you love, Victoria Dallon, if you do not obey me! Feed me or I shall make you pay!”

“Hmm. Not quite ‘please give me the milkshake, Miss Victoria…’” I cackled. Nonetheless, I relented, giving her a spoonful. Her eyes widened.

“I will forgive this transgression, only this once. Do not make me regret it.” She was smiling, though, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

 

The months crept past like that, little outings here and there. Occasionally Edict or Licit would show up to check in, but by and large they settled for calling me once a week or so to make sure we hadn’t gone off the deep end. Summer became Autumn became Winter. It was the happiest I’d been in a long time, if I was being honest. I could tell Ashley was happier too. Seeing her smile more every day was… nice. Of course, there were bad days here and there, but more than enough good to make up for it.

“Victoria, we should talk,” Ashley said one day, in the midst of yet another documentary. That was our usual routine. Get up, shower, put on the gothic abomination of the day, breakfast, and then chill out on the couch watching TV.

“What’s up?” I asked, pulling my head off her shoulder. “Everything alright?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she intoned. “I feel the terms of our partnership no longer accurately reflect reality.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you are my servant, Victoria Dallon, and you are cuddling with me.”

“Oh?” I leaned up, worried. “If I crossed a line, I mean…”

“No, I like it. Continue.”

I hesitantly nestled against her, and we were quiet for a bit, watching the film. I’d had just enough time to relax when she spoke up again. “You are not my servant, Victoria Dallon.”

“I mean, I haven’t really felt like one… ever, I mean?” I admitted. Ashley was a handful, true, but I didn’t really mind, other than the occasional bout of megalomania I could look past. Seriously, like I didn’t come with an S-class threat’s worth of baggage myself.

“I would like you to be more than my servant,” Ashley replied. “If the feeling is mutual, that is.”

_Fuck. Really?_ I’ll admit I’d had… thoughts on the matter. It’s hard not to, when you’re a young adult, living alone in close proximity to a girl you may or may not have a crush on. I’d never in a million years thought that it was shared.

I swallowed my breath, looking over at her. Our eyes met. One thing lead to another, and I was straddling her in my stupid Victorian edgelord costume, pressing her head back into the couch cushions using only the power of my lips. Part of me wanted to feel her hands on my hips in that moment, but I knew it was a bad idea. I pulled back slightly, catching my breath, licking my lips to pick up the last lingering taste of her lip gloss. “It’s mutual,” I said sheepishly.

“Good,” Ashley said, looking up at me with pale blue eyes. Her face was warm against my hands. I swallowed the knot in my throat. “But I was about to say you feel like a sister I never had.”

I felt myself grow still. _Sister?_ “I… see.” I swallowed the second, more painful knot that had appeared.

“Yes… I never had one before, but…”

“But I just tonguefucked you?” I said, wishing for death. I went to pull myself off of her, but suddenly her hands were on my waist, just like I’d been imagining seconds ago. In reality, though, it ratcheted the tension up to eleven. “Ashley…”

“Victoria. I… I like what we are. I like this. I like you. You feel the same way, do you not?”

“I mean, like…” I trailed off, thinking. Half my thoughts on Amy, half on Ashley. A sliver of humor at the thought that maybe “A” names were my problem. I… I wanted to be with her. But she saw us as sisters? But she clearly had no problem with our current physical positioning.

Whatever, fuck it. At least she didn’t try to fuck with my head. “Licit let slip something last meeting,” I ventured.

Ashley frowned. “I don’t like him. He intrudes on our privacy. I would _end_ him for it.”

“He says the world’s ending.” My voice was quiet.

She looked at me like I’d asked the stupidest question in the world. “Then I will rule over the ashes.”

I snorted. There was the Damsel leaking. “What if we both rule over the ashes?” Fuck labels.

“I’d like that,” she said, pulling me closer.

“Careful,” I warned, liking my torso unannihilated.

“Always.” Ashley leaned up, and our lips met again. I closed my eyes.


End file.
